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Class__ ?ff /<•? 4T 
Book '^7 



Copyright N°_ 



COPlfRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



NINE CHOICE POEMS 



OF 



LONGFELLOW, LOWELL, MACAULAY, BYRON 
BROWNING, AND SHELLEY 



EDITED WITH INTRODUCTORY SKETCHES AND NOTES 

BY 

JAMES BALDWIN 



o*Ko 



NEW YORK •:• CINCINNATI - :• CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two CoDies Received 

FEB 21 1906 

I Copyright Entry 
^LASS CL XXc. No, 
' COPY B. 



Copyright, 1906, by 
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANYo 



The poems by Longfellow and Lowell are used by permission 
of and by special arrangements with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 
the authorized publishers of the writings of these authors. 

Copyright, 1869, by James Russell Lowell. 

Copyright, 1897, by Mabel Lowell Burnett. 



nine choice poems. 



PREFACE 

Almost all children enjoy nursery rhymes, especially if they 
may listen to their recital instead of being required to read 
them. The great majority take pleasure in reading or hearing 
any simple verses provided they " tell something " and have 
life and movement. They enjoy ballads, whether old or new, 
and metrical stories no matter how awkw r ard the rhyme. They 
like these, not for any beauty of thought or expression, but 
because of the action and the variety of images which they 
present to the imagination. But such productions are not 
poetry of the highest class, — most commonly they are not 
poetry at all. They are simply substitutes for poetry, and as 
such they serve a most excellent purpose with minds that are 
not yet sufficiently mature to appreciate beautiful thoughts 
expressed in beautiful and poetic language. 

Very much of the poetry that is written professedly for chil- 
dren, and indeed the greater part of that which is put before 
them in the school readers, is distasteful to them. Such poetry, 
although it may be of the most excellent type, fails to interest 
them ; in fact, it is meaningless to them. In this class are 
included all meditative pieces, such as verses on the seasons, 
flowers, the sky, truth, duty, or any abstract idea. Children 
do not meditate, they act ; although they are poets themselves, 
they are incapable of relishing those higher forms of poetic 
composition which give so much delight to their elders. Intro- 
spection is foreign to them ; they crave that which is tangible 
and that which is replete with life. 

3 



4 PREFACE 

Much of the prevalent lack of appreciation, not to say the dis- 
liking, of true poetry is traceable to the too early presentation 
and enforced study of poems of the subjective quality to which 
I have just alluded. The child or grown-up person who de- 
clares his antipathy to all forms of poetic composition has been 
spoiled by the injudicious efforts of his teachers to make his 
tastes conform to their own. Rhymes and jingles, nonsense 
verses, metrical tales of the simplest sort, the stirring old 
ballads, — let the young pupil indulge in these to his heart's 
content. If no hindrance is put in his way, there will come a 
time later in school life when you may lead him by gentle and 
natural processes to a liking for those nobler compositions 
which appeal to your own maturer tastes. 

The foregoing considerations point to the true solution of the 
problem how to cultivate an appreciation of the higher forms of 
poetry and how to utilize that appreciation in the formal study 
of English. Avoid the forcing process. Give to your pupils, 
not that which you prefer, but that which they can understand 
without effort and enjoy without assistance. Before requiring 
them to read any poem, give such an account of it as will lead 
them to anticipate something of the pleasure to be derived from 
its perusal. Poetry, like the rose, exists for its beauty. Our 
enjoyment of either is not enhanced by studying it under a 
microscope. To analyze every expression in a poem or to 
require an exact understanding of every word and figure, is to 
deprive the reader of much unpremeditated pleasure. Poetry 
is not for instruction, it is for enjoyment. 

This little volume has been prepared with the hope that it 
may be of assistance in making the transition from objective to 
subjective poetry easy and attractive to children who are old 
enough for it. It is in large part suggestive, for it is presumed 
that for each of the nine poems here presented the teacher will 
select many others of similar grade or poetic quality to be in- 



PREFACE 5 

troduced and discussed in a similar manner. The explanatory 
notes are brief and few ; for the introductory sketches are 
intended to awaken such interest in the poem as a whole as 
will lead pupils to discover for themselves whatever is most 
needful to understand. The biographical sketches are designed 
chiefly for reference. While every one of the nine selections is 
a poem of the first quality, there is a long step between Long- 
fellow's beautiful ballad of " The Skeleton in Armor " and Low- 
ell's scholarly ode "Under the Elms." Yet the progress from 
the one to the other is gradual, and if these readings are sup- 
plemented by others of like character, the young reader will 
grow into such an appreciation of subjective poetry as he would 
scarcely acquire by any haphazard method. 

The selection of these particular pieces originated in the 
requirement of the New York State Education Department that 
examinations for preliminary certificates in English in the public 
schools of the state shall be based upon them or their equivalent 



CONTENTS 

The Skeleton in Armor. page 

I. The Finding of the Skeleton 9 

II. The Poem ......... 13 

III. The Poet 19 

The Singing Leaves. 

I. Playing the Minstrel . . . . . . .21 

II. The Ballad 24 

Rhcecus. 

I. A Story of Old Greece ...... 29 

II. The Poem 34 

III. The Poet 39 

A Lay of Ancient Rome. 

I. A Remarkable Child and a Famous Poem ... 41 

II. Horatius ......... 47 

III. The Poet ° • > 73 

Apostrophe to the Ocean. 

I. A Lover of the Sea ....... 75 

II. Stanzas from " Childe Harold " ..... 80 

III. The Poet 83 

Incident of the French Camp. 

I. Napoleon at Ratisbon 85 

II. The Poem 87 

III. The Poet 88 

7 



8 CONTENTS 

To a Skylark. page 

I. The Song of the Lark . . . . .90 

II. The Poem . 93 

III. The Poet 97 

Under the Willows. 

I. The Trees and the Poet ...... 99 

II. Part of the June Idyl , 103 

Under the Old Elm. 

I. Two Notable Occurrences . . . . - . . 107 
II. The Lines on Washington . . . . . .112 



NINE CHOICE POEMS 

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

I. THE FINDING OF THE SKELETON 

Many years ago some workmen were digging on 
the side of a hill near Fall River, Massachusetts. 
Suddenly one of them uttered a cry as if in surprise 
and alarm. Then he held up to the astonished 
view of his comrades a much-decayed human skull 
which his pick had uncovered. All crowded around 
him to examine the grewsome thing. 

" Whose skull can it be ? How came it there ? " 
were the questions which every one asked but none 
could answer. 

" Perhaps if we dig farther we shall find the rest 
of the skeleton," suggested some. 

Very carefully they began to remove the earth 
from beneath the spot where the skull had lain. 
There they discovered what appeared to be the 
body of a man in a sitting posture. It was inclosed 
in a wrapping of thin bark which fell to pieces when 
exposed to the air. Beneath this outer wrapping 

9 



10 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

was another of very coarse cloth so much decayed 
that it crumbled to ashes when touched. The 
skeleton thus rudely coffined was apparently that of 
a man quite tall and strong. But stranger than its 
covering of bark and cloth were the pieces of 
armor that still clung to it. Upon its breast was a 
thin plate of brass, a foot in length but much nar- 
rower, of curious pattern and workmanship. It was 
so badly rusted that no one could tell whether any 
device or inscription had ever been engraved upon 
it. Around the waist of the skeleton was a broad 
belt made of short brass tubes laid side by side and 
fastened together by strong cords of rawhide. This 
had been worn, no doubt, as a protective armor. 

The discovery of this skeleton was much talked 
about not only in Fall River but elsewhere. 
People asked many questions and made many 
guesses about it. How came it there ? How old 
was it ? Was it the skeleton of a white man or of 
an Indian ? No one could answer, but all agreed 
that it had lain in the ground a very great many 
years. Its history was a mystery. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was at that time 
a young professor in Harvard College. The story 
of the skeleton interested him very much. 

" It cannot be the skeleton of an Indian," he said, 
"for Indians do not wear armor. It must be the 
remains of one of those adventurous Norsemen who 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR II 

visited the coast of New England hundreds of 
years before the time of Columbus." 

The more he thought about this the surer he 
felt that his opinion was correct. 

" What a romantic history that man must have 
had ! " he exclaimed. " Doubtless before coming to 
America he was one of those bold vikings, or 
pirates, who sailed along the coasts of Europe, 
plundering the seaports and terrifying the people. 
The skalds, or ancient minstrels of the North, de- 
lighted to sing of such heroes. Their sagas, or 
heroic poems, narrate many a tale of these bold 
adventurers. This man, who died so far from 
home and was buried in his rudely made armor, 
had no skald to chant his praises, and no saga to 
tell of his daring deeds. Yet, if we did but know 
it, what a story was his ! " 

Mr. Longfellow had seen in Newport, Rhode 
Island, a queer old tower of stone which some 
people said had been constructed by Norsemen 
nearly a thousand years ago. Although there is 
now good evidence that this tower was built by 
an English colonial governor and used by him as 
a mill, yet it is a pretty fancy to imagine some 
roving viking as its architect. 

" Who knows," queried Mr. Longfellow, " whether 
the skeleton discovered at Fall River is not that 
of the same bold sea rover who built the Newport 



12 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

tower? Such a thing would not be impossible, for 
Newport is not far from Fall River. But why 
should he have built such a tower? Perhaps he 
designed it as the home of the fair lady whom he 
loved. Certainly it is pleasant to imagine that this 
was the case." 

Thoughts such as these grew in the young poet's 
mind, and soon they formed themselves into a 
romantic little story of a bold viking and a fair 
young maiden whom he steals from her kingly 
father and brings over the sea to the strange West- 
ern world. This story he put into musical verse, 
and thus the poem which he called " The Skeleton 
in Armor " came into being. 

The poet imagines that the skeleton appears to 
him wearing its strange belt of tubes and its brass 
breastplate, and holding out its fleshless hands as 
though begging for some gift. When the poet 
asks it why it has thus come into his presence, its 
hollow eyes glow like the Northern Lights in 
winter and it speaks in a gurgling voice like the 
rippling of an ice-covered brook. It tells the poet 
that it was once a viking, and relates in brief its 
adventurous story. 

The poem was first published in the Knicker- 
bocker Magazine in 1841. It has always been 
one of the most popular of Longfellow's lighter 
pieces. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 13 

II. THE POEM 

i. "Speak! speak! thou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me ! 
• Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 
Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

2. Then, from those cavernous eyes, 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 

As when the northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of w T oe 

From the heart's chamber. 

3. " I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 

4. " Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 



14 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon 2 ; 
And, with my skates fast bound, 
Skimmed the half -frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

5. " Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly 2 bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the werewolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

6. " But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

7. " Many a wassail-bout 3 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 

1 ger falcon. A large, hawklike bird found in the far North. 

2 grisly. Fierce, frightful. (The poet does not mean the grizzly 
bear, which is peculiar to North America.) 

3 was'sail-bout. A drinking bout. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 1 5 

As we the Berserk's 1 tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 
Filled to o'erflowing. 

8. " Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine, 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

9. " I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

10. " Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

1 Ber'serk. One of a class of warriors who went into battle naked 
and maddened by strong drink. 



l6 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

ii. " While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind gusts waft 

The sea foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

12. " She was a Prince's child, 
I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

13. " Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

14. " Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast, 

Yet we were gaining fast, 
When the wind failed us ; 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 17 

And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 1 
So that our foe we saw 
Laugh as he hailed us. 

15. "And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail, 

1 Death ! ' was the helmsman's hail, 

' Death without quarter ! ' 
Midships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 

16. " As with his wings aslant 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, — 
So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 

17. " Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloudlike we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which to this very hour 

Stands looking seaward. 

1 Skaw. A promontory or headland. 

NINE CHOICE POEMS — 2 



18 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

1 8. " There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 

19. " Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

Oh, death was grateful ! 

20. " Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 

Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! 1 to the Northland! skoal!" 

Thus the tale ended. 

1 Skoal. An expression of good wishes. Hail! 



.THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 



19 




III. THE POET 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the best known and best loved 
of American poets, was born February 27, 1807, in the town of 
Portland, Maine. He was edu- 
cated in Bowdoin College from -^ 
which he graduated in 1825. 
From his boyhood he was 
known for the gentleness of his 
manners and for his love of 
the beautiful in literature. After 
his graduation he spent three 
years in Europe, perfecting his 
knowledge of the French, Ger- 
man, and Italian languages, and 
forming friendships with many 
of the best writers of the time. 
Upon his return to America he 
was appointed to the professorship of modern languages in 
Bowdoin College. 

His first book was a prose work entitled " Outre Mer," a series 
of sketches describing his experiences abroad. This was pub- 
lished in 1835, an d in the same year Mr. Longfellow became 
professor of modern languages at Harvard. This position he re- 
signed in 1854 in order to devote himself more wholly to literary 
pursuits. 

His first volume of poems,. " Voices of the Night," was pub- 
lished in 1839. The second volume, which appeared in 1841, 
was entitled " Ballads and Other Poems." It contained "The 
Skeleton in Armor," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The Vil- 
lage Blacksmith," and other pieces now familiar to every reader 
of poetry. The third volume, which included " The Spanish Stu- 
dent," was scarcely less popular. 



Henry W. Longfellow. 



20 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Other volumes followed at intervals, each increasing to some 
extent Mr. Longfellow's well-earned reputation as the foremost 
man of letters in America. Among his longer poems the most 
famous are "Evangeline," "The Courtship of Miles Standish," 
and "Hiawatha." Many of his shorter verses are as household 
words to every schoolboy or schoolgirl in America. He died at 
his home in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1882. 



THE SINGING LEAVES 

I. PLAYING THE MINSTREL 

A child and a poet were sitting side by side in 
the waning twilight of a summer evening. 

"Tell me a story/' said the child, slipping his 
hand softly into that of his companion. " Tell me 
an old-fashioned story of a knight and a lady; and 
please tell it to me in rhyme — sing it to me." 

" You mean, then, that I shall play the minstrel, 
I suppose/' said the poet. 

" What is a minstrel ? " asked the child. 

" Hundreds of years ago," answered the poet, 
"there were no printed books as there are now. 
Few people, even among the best, could read; 
and yet all the children and most of the grown-up 
folks liked stories just as they do now. Instead of 
books, therefore, there were men whose business it 
was to go from place to place to tell the news of 
the world, and amuse their listeners by relating 
strange tales of heroism and adventure. These 
men were called minstrels, or skalds, and their 
stories were commonly in rhyme and were sung 
instead of being merely spoken. People liked 
this; for everybody is pleased with music, and 
songs are easily remembered." 

" I like song stories, too," said the child, " and 



22 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

that is why I asked you to tell me one in rhyme, 
and to sing it to me." 

" Most of the story poems which the minstrels 
sang were called ballads," continued the poet. 
11 These were simple little verses, so easy that every- 
body could understand them ; and many of the 
listeners learned them by heart and sang them to 
others, so that, although they were not written 
down, they were never forgotten. But at length, 
when books became common and everybody could 
read, the minstrel's trade came to an end ; for 
people no longer depended upon him to tell stories 
and carry the news. Then, lest those old ballads 
should be lost to memory, some of the best of 
them were put into books, where any one who 
wishes may learn them. They are not sung now- 
adays, but they make pleasant reading, and they 
are interesting as showing how people lived and 
thought in those ruder and simpler times when 
there were real knights and real castles." 

" I know, I know," said the child, impatiently. 
" I have heard some of them, and they are delight- 
ful. Why don't you poets make up interesting 
poems now, like those old ballads? Most of your 
poetry is so dull I cannot read it." 

" You are complimentary, my dear. But we do 
write ballads now and then. All the best poems for 
children are in the ballad form. Do you remember 



THE SINGING LEAVES 23 

Cowper's 'John Gilpin,' and Wordsworth's 'We are 
Seven,' and Longfellow's ■ Wreck of the Hesperus,' 
and Whittier's 'Maud Muller'? Surely they are 
interesting." 

" But they are too new," answered the child. 
" They tell only about common things and common 
people. I like them, but to-night I want another 
kind of story. Please be my minstrel, and sing to 
me an old-fashioned ballad of knights and ladies 
and brave deeds." 

" You shall have your wish," said the poet. " I 
will play that I am your minstrel; but the ballad 
I sing, although old-fashioned, is a new one, written 
by one whose poetry you say is dull." 

Then, in a full, rich voice, he recited James 
Russell Lowell's beautiful ballad of " The Singing 
Leaves." The child listened with eagerness and 
joy, much as the children of those older days must 
have listened to the minstrel's musical tale. 

" What were the singing leaves ? " he asked when 
the story was ended. 

11 That is a riddle," answered the poet. " Perhaps 
Mr. Lowell meant that they should typify wisdom, 
perhaps a heart merry with music, perhaps merely 
the love-letters of Walter the page. It does not 
matter, nor is it best to look into such questions too 
closely. The ballad will be all the more beautiful if 
we do not try to remove the mystery from it." 



24 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

" I like the story," said the child, " because it is 
about somebody choosing something, and the one 
who makes the wisest choice is rewarded most. It 
is just so with many of the fairy tales I have read." 

" Yes," answered the poet, "and as you grow up 
and read many books, you will be surprised at the 
number of really great stories that are based upon 
this question of choosing." 

Then he added, as though forgetful of the child's 
presence, " And does not the history of every man, 
and even the history of nations, hinge upon the 
same question ? Some choose pearls and some 
choose golden combs, but those who choose beauty 
and truth inherit the 'broad earldoms three' of love, 
hope, and peace." 

II. THE BALLAD 
I 
" What fairings 1 will ye that I bring ? " 
Said the King to his daughters three ; 
" For I to Vanity Fair 2 am boun, 3 
Now say what shall they be ? " 

Then up and spake the eldest daughter, 

That lady tall and grand : 
"Oh, bring me pearls and diamonds great, 

And gold rings for my hand." 

1 fairings. Gifts bought at a fair. 

2 Vanity Fair. In Banyan's u Pilgrim's Progress r this is a fair held 
daily in the city of Vanity. 3 boun. Archaic for " bound." 



THE SINGING LEAVES 25 

Thereafter spake the second daughter, 

That was both white and red : 
" For me bring silks that will stand alone, 

And a gold comb for my head." 

Then came the turn of the least daughter, 

That was whiter than thistle down, 
And among the gold of her blithesome hair 

Dim shone the golden crown. 

" There came a bird this morning, 

And sang 'neath my bower eaves, 
Till I dreamed, as his music made me, 

'Ask thou for the Singing Leaves/ " 

Then the brow of the King swelled crimson 

With a flash of angry scorn : 
" Well have ye spoken, my two eldest, 

And chosen as ye were born ; 

" But she, like a thing of peasant race, 
That is happy binding the sheaves ; " 

Then he saw her dead mother in her face, 
And said, " Thou shalt have thy leaves." 

11 

He mounted and rode three days and nights 

Till he came to Vanity Fair, 
And 'twas easy to buy the gems and the silk, 

But no Singing Leaves were there. 



26 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Then deep in the greenwood rode he, 

And asked of every tree, 
" Oh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf, 

I pray you give it me ! " 

But the trees all kept their counsel, 

And never a word said they, 
Only there sighed from the pine tops 

A music of seas far away. 

Only the pattering aspen 

Made a sound of growing rain, 
That fell ever faster and faster, 

Then faltered to silence again. 

" Oh, where shall I find a little foot page 
That would win both hose and shoon, 1 

And will bring to me the Singing Leaves 
If they grow under the moon ? " 

Then lightly turned him Walter the page, 

By the stirrup as he ran : 
" Now pledge you me the truesome word 

Of a king and gentleman, 

" That you will give me the first, first thing 

You meet at your castle gate, 
And the Princess shall get the Singing Leaves, 

Or mine be a traitor's fate." 

The King's head dropt upon his breast 
A moment, as it might be ; 

1 hose and shoon. Stockings and shoes. 



THE SINGING LEAVES 27 

'Twill be my dog, he thought, and said, 
11 My faith I plight to thee." 

Then Walter took from next his heart, 

A packet small and thin, 
" Now give you this to the Princess Anne, 

The Singing Leaves are therein." 



in 

As the King rode in at his castle gate, 

A maiden to meet him ran, 
And " Welcome, father! " she laughed and cried 

Together, the Princess Anne. 

"Lo, here the Singing Leaves," quoth he, 
" And woe, but they cost me dear ! " 

She took the packet, and the smile 
Deepened down beneath the tear. 

It deepened down till it reached her heart, 

And then gushed up again, 
And lighted her tears as the sudden sun 

Transfigures the summer rain. 

And the first Leaf, when it was opened, 

Sang : " I am Walter the page, 
And the songs I sing 'neath thy window 

Are my only heritage." 

And the second Leaf sang : " But in the land 

That is neither on earth nor sea, 
My lute and I are lords of more 

Than thrice this kingdom's fee." 



28 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

And the third Leaf sang, " Be mine ! Be mine ! " 

And ever it sang, " Be mine ! " 
Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter, 

And said, " I am thine, thine, thine ! " 

At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, 

At the second she turned aside, 
At the third, 'twas as if a lily flushed 

With a rose's red heart's tide. 

"Good counsel gave the bird," said she, 

" I have my hope thrice o'er, 
For they sing to my very heart," she said, 

"And it sings to them evermore." 

She brought to him her beauty and truth, 

But and 1 broad earldoms three, 
And he made her queen of the broader lands 

He held of his lute in fee. 2 

1 But and. And also. 

2 of his lute in fee. In possession by reason of his lute. 



RHCECUS 

I. A STORY OF OLD GREECE 

A very long time ago two Greek boys were 
one day strolling in the woods of Arcadia. It 
matters not what their names were, but let us 
suppose that one was called Cleon and the other 
Alpheus. They walked leisurely along beneath 
great oaks and spreading chestnuts and through 
groves where arbutus bloomed and bees sucked 
honey from thousands of flowers. Their eyes were 
open to see and enjoy every beautiful sight, and 
their ears were attentive to every pleasant sound. 
They were studying nature, but studying it in a 
way quite unlike the methods of the schools. 

" What is that ? " asked Cleon, as the song of 
some unknown bird suddenly broke the stillness of 
the woods. 

They stopped to listen. The sound seemed to 
come from among the leafy shadows of a tall old 
oak ; but the songster was so well hidden in its 
bower that they could not see it. 

" It must be the dryad, or nymph, whose home is 
in that tree," said Alpheus; " for no common 
creature can make such music as that. What if we 
should see the sprite herself, warbling her joyous 
song ? " 

" People say that they frequently make them- 

29 



30 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

selves visible,'' replied Cleon. " They appear 
sometimes as birds, but most often as beautiful 
ladies with long, golden hair falling over their 
shoulders." 

" How pleasant it is," said Alpheus, "to think that 
there is a nymph, or dryad, in every tree around us, 
and that while we cannot see them, they are all 
looking at us, kindly but half afraid ! " 

" The dryad of this oak must be very old," said 
Cleon, measuring the huge trunk with his eye. 
" She was born when the tree first sprang from a 
tiny acorn, and she has lived with it and been its 
guardian ever since. Five hundred years is not 
longer than the measure of her life ; and what 
wonderful and beautiful things she must have 
seen while dwelling here so long ! " 

" I should not like to be a wood nymph," said 
Alpheus. " It is dreadful to think of staying 
always in the same place ; and then when the tree 
dies, the nymph must die with it." 

" It might be dreadful to you," answered Cleon ; 
" but the nymphs themselves are always happy. 
And who knows that they do not often take the 
form of birds or of bees, and fly hither and thither 
as their own sweet wills persuade them ? " 

By now the song of the bird had ceased, and the 
boys, after vainly seeking to discover the dryad of 
the oak, walked onward through the woods. Peer- 



RHCECUS 31 

ing into a dense thicket, where the shadows of 
thorns and twining vines mingled strangely with 
the struggling sunbeams, they started quickly back 
as though alarmed. 

" Was not that a satyr gliding through the 
bushes ? " whispered Cleon. " I fancied that I saw 
his pointed ears and his goatlike horns and his 
bristly body as he moved swiftly away." 

" What I saw," said Alpheus, " was quite dif- 
ferent I saw no satyr, but the nymphs of the 
viny thicket, waving their long arms and dancing 
softly in the quiet shade." 

Just then a breeze stirred the branches over their 
heads and set every leaf to quivering, while a gentle 
murmur passed through the rustling tree tops. 
The boys listened in awe, for they fancied that the 
nymphs and dryads of the wood were whispering 
among themselves and telling one another the 
news of the day. 

As they walked onward, they saw a bee flying 
homeward with its yellow load of pollen. They 
paused to watch its course, and wondered whether 
it were not some spirit of the wood hastening to the 
shelter of its own protecting tree. 

Down by the brook where the sunlight flashed in 
the eddies they pleased themselves by imagining 
that they saw a fair creature with golden hair and 
flowing white robes dancing among the willows. 



32 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

But when they drew nearer they found only a few 
fickle butterflies flitting from leaf to leaf in the 
yellow sunlight. 

Then they heard the sound of an ax, and follow- 
ing it they came to where a sturdy woodman was 
chopping down an elm. 

" Do you not hear the poor nymph cry out at 
every stroke of the ax ? " asked Cleon, as he 
pleaded with the woodman to spare the tree. 

Farther on, they found an old plum tree, with 
gnarled and thorny branches, which the wind had 
broken and partly uprooted. 

" See how the old tree lifts up its hands to us as 
though asking help," said Alpheus. " Let us prop 
it up and give it a new chance to grow and bear 
fruit;' 

" Yes," responded Cleon, " let us help it to live, 
and by so doing we shall prolong the life of the 
gentle creature that dwells with it as its guardian." 

Thus these two lads of long ago, as they strolled 
through the woods, saw many strange and awe- 
inspiring sights, which to us are invisible and un- 
believable. We look at the myriad forms of nature 
with the cold eye of science; but they viewed them 
with the poet's sweet and wondering vision. We 
analyze and measure and reckon the value in dollars 
and cents; but they saw in everything a kindred 
spirit, beautiful or fearful, and worthy of profoundest 



RHGECUS 33 

reverence. Such poetic imaginings gave rise to 
many fables that point unerringly " to the hidden 
springs of truth." Therefore may not we, in this 
prosaic age, learn wisdom from the childlike sim- 
plicity of other times, which thus peopled the 
woods, the brooks, the sea, the earth, with in- 
tangible and impossible forms? 

It was with such thoughts that James Russell 
Lowell, when a young man of twenty-four, com- 
posed the well-known poem entitled " Rhoecus." a 
The story which he tells, while founded upon the 
pleasing fancy of the tree-inhabiting dryad, is not 
derived directly from any ancient myth. The name 
of Rhoecus appears only twice in classical Greek 
narratives : first, as that of a Centaur who was killed 
by an arrow from Atalanta's bow ; second, as that 
of an architect of Samos who flourished about 
640 B.C. The young man Rhoecus of this fable, 
therefore, had evidently no existence save in the 
poet's imagination. 

Of the truths to which the story points there 
are at least two which are easily discerned: the 
duty of kindness to all created things, and the hope- 
lessness of recovering lost opportunities. Perhaps 
as you read you may discover between the lines 
some other valuable teachings or some other " ear- 
nest parables of inward lore." 

1 Pronounced re'kus. 

NINE CHOICE POEMS — 3 



34 NIJNE CHOICE POEMS 



II. THE POEM 



God sends his teachers unto every age, 

To every clime and every race of men, 

With revelations fitted to their growth 

And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth 

Into the selfish rule of one sole race : 

Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed 

The life of man, and given it to grasp 

The master key of knowledge, reverence, 

Infolds some germs of goodness and of right; 

Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 

The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 

Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 

There is an instinct in the human heart 

Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, 

To justify the reign of its belief 

And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, 

Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 

Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful hands, 

Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. 

For, as in Nature naught is made in vain, 

But all things have within their hull of use 

A wisdom and a meaning which may speak 

Of spiritual secrets to the ear 

Of spirit ; so, in whatsoe'er the heart 

Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, 

To make its inspirations suit its creed, 

And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring 

Its needful food of truth, there ever is 



RHCECUS 35 

A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, 

Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light 

And earnest parables of inward lore. 

Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, 

As full of gracious youth and beauty still 

As the immortal freshness of that grace 

Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 

A youth named Rhoecus, wandering in the wood, 

Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, 

And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 

He propped its gray trunk with admiring care, 

And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 

But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 

That murmured " Rhoecus ! " 'Twas as if the leaves, 

Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured it, 

And while he paused bewildered, yet again 

It murmured " Rhoecus ! " softer than a breeze. 

He started and beheld with dizzy eyes 

What seemed the substance of a happy dream 

Stand there before him, spreading a warm glow 

Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. 

It seemed a woman's shape, yet far too fair 

To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 

For any that were wont to mate with gods. 

All naked like a goddess stood she there, 

And like a goddess all too beautiful 

To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 

" Rhoecus, I am the Dryad of this tree," 

Thus she began, dropping her low-toned words 

Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew, 



36 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

" And with it I am doomed to live and die; 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 
Nor have I other bliss than simple life ; 
Now ask me what thou wilt that I can give, 
And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 

Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart, 
Yet by the prompting of such beauty bold, 
Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love ? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my nature's goal." 
After a little pause she said again, 
But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
" I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift ; 
An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing he could see 
But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak, 
And not a sound came to his straining ears 
But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, 
And far away upon an emerald slope 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 

Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, 

Men did not think that happy things were dreams 

Because they overstepped the narrow bourn 

Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 

Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 

To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 

So Rhoecus made no doubt that he was blest, 

And all along unto the city's gate 

Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked, 



RHCECUS 37 

The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its wont, 
And he could scarce believe he had not wings, 
Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his veins 
Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 

Young Rhoecus had a faithful heart enough, 
But one that in the present dwelt too much, 
And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er 
Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that, 
Like the contented peasant of a vale 
Deemed it the world and never looked beyond. 
So, haply meeting in the afternoon 
Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 
He joined them, and forgot all else besides. 

The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
And Rhoecus, who had met but sorry luck, 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw. 
When through the room there hummed a yellow bee 
That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs 
As if to light. And Rhoecus laughed and said, 
Feeling how red and flushed he was with loss, 
" By Venus ! does he take me for a rose ? " 
And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand. 
But still the bee came back, and thrice again 
Rhoecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
Then through the window flew the wounded bee, 
And Rhoecus, tracking him with angry eyes, 
Saw a sharp mountain peak of Thessaly 
Against the red disk of the setting sun, — 
And instantly the blood sank from his heart, 
As if its very walls had caved away. 



38 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Without a word he turned, and, rushing forth, 
Ran madly through the city and the gate, 
And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long shade, 
By the low sun thrown forward broad and dim, 
Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall. 

Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, 

And, listening tearfully, he heard once more 

The low voice murmur " Rhoecus! " close at hand ; 

Whereat he looked around him, but could see 

Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the oak. 

Then sighed the voice : " O Rhoecus ! nevermore 

Shalt thou behold me or by day or night, 

Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love 

More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 

Filled up with nectar any mortal heart ; 

But thou didst scorn my humble messenger, 

And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. 

We spirits only show to gentle eyes, 

We ever ask an undivided love, 

And he who scorns the least of Nature's works 

Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 

Farewell ! for thou canst never see me more." 

Then Rhoecus beat his breast and groaned aloud, 

And cried, " Be pitiful ! forgive me yet 

This once, and I shall never need it more ! " 

" Alas ! " the voice returned, " 'tis thou art blind, 

Not I unmerciful ; I can forgive, 

But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; 

Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 

With that again there murmured " Nevermore ! " 



RHCECUS 



39 



And Rhoecus after heard no other sound 
Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves, 
Like the long surf upon a distant shore 
Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. 
The night had gathered round him ; o'er the plain 
The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 
And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 
Harshly and like a curse; above, the sky, 
With all its bright sublimity of stars, 
Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze ; 
Beauty was all around him and delight, 
But from that eve he was alone on earth. 



III. THE POET 



James Russell Lowell was 
born at Cambridge, Massa- 
chusetts, February 22, 18 19. 
At the age of sixteen he 
entered Harvard College, 
where his ancestors for sev- 
eral generations had been 
educated. Upon his gradu- 
ation, in 1839, he was the 
poet of his class. He studied 
law, but his inclinations drew 
him to literature and he 
never practiced the profes- 
sion. His first volume of 
poems, " A Year's Life," was 




James Russell Lowell. 



40 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

published in 1841. This was followed by a collection of "Poems " 
in 1844. 

Two years later Mr. Lowell began the publication of the " Biglow 
Papers," which immediately brought him into public notice. In 
1848 appeared "A Fable for Critics" and "The Vision of Sir 
Launfal," which greatly increased his reputation. In 1855 he 
succeeded Longfellow as professor of modern languages at Har- 
vard. From 1857 to 1862 he was editor of the Atlantic Monthly, 
and it was during this period that some of his best prose work 
was produced. From 1864 to 1872 he was one of the editors of 
the North American Review. In 1877 he was appointed United 
States Minister to Spain, and in 1880 was transferred to England, 
where he remained four years. 

During his residence abroad Mr. Lowell distinguished himself 
as a scholar and statesman of the highest type. He died at 
Elmwood, his home in Cambridge, on the twelfth of x\ugust, 1891. 

Lowell's best prose works are contained in the volumes entitled 
" Fireside Travels," "Among my Books," "My Study Windows," 
and " Political Essays." His poetry, which is less popular than 
that of Longfellow or Whittier, has been collected into a single 
volume. As poet, critic, scholar, and statesman, James Russell 
Lowell stands in the first rank of America's famous men. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 

I. A REMARKABLE CHILD AND A FAMOUS POEM 

About a hundred years ago there lived in Eng- 
land a child of whom his friends predicted wonder- 
ful things. He was, indeed, a remarkable child, 
of strange tastes and uncommon talents. He was 
almost always reading or talking, and that which 
he once read he never forgot. It is said that by 
a mere glance at a printed page he could make 
himself the master of its contents. 

Once, when quite a small lad, he went out with 
his mother to pay an afternoon call. On a table in 
the parlor he saw a new book, one of the long, 
romantic poems of Sir Walter Scott, perhaps " The 
Lady of the Lake," which had then just been pub- 
lished. While his mother spent a half hour in talk- 
ing, he read. When the call was ended, he had 
finished the book. As they walked home together, 
his mother asked him about his reading. He 
told her the title of the poem, and then, without 
hesitation, repeated page after page of the book, 
never omitting a word or skipping a passage. 

" Mother," he said, " I wish that I might write a 
great romantic poem like that. And, indeed, that 
is just what I am going to do." 

Before he was eight years old he made the 

41 



42 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

attempt, and delighted his friends by presenting 
them with a romance in three cantos called the 
" Battle of Cheviot." As a poem it was crude and 
imperfect, and was by no means a great literary 
work, yet it was certainly a remarkable production 
for a child. 

The name of this child was Thomas Babington 
Macaulay. As he grew up to manhood his passion 
for reading, talking, and writing remained with 
him, and his wonderful memory became even more 
wonderful. He wrote essays, biographies, poems, 
and began a history of England which for strength 
of thought and beauty of expression has never been 
excelled. He admired still the romantic poems of 
Sir Walter Scott, but he loved the old ballads 
of early times, and most of all the " Iliad " of 
Homer. 

He was a man of forty, and famous the world 
over, when he wrote the stirring ballad of " Hora- 
tius." " Let us suppose," said he, " that this is not 
the work of Thomas Babington Macaulay, but of an 
honest Roman citizen who lived about a hundred 
and twenty years after the war which it celebrates. 
It is not strictly historical, for Horatius was not 
successful in his defense of the bridge. But then, 
all the stories that we have of those early Roman 
times belong to poetry rather than to history. 
Why, therefore, may we not imagine a tale with 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 43 

a happier ending than that of the more common 
narratives ? " 

The story told by the ballad is briefly as 
follows : — 

Tarquinius Superbus, the last king of Rome, 
having been banished from his own country, had 
sought refuge with a neighboring king, Porsena 
of Clusium. He persuaded Porsena to aid him in 
recovering his throne, and messengers were sent 
into all the surrounding country to summon others 
to join him. Twelve powerful cities of Etruria 
responded and sent horsemen and footmen to swell 
the great army which Porsena was to lead against 
Rome. 

In Rome there was great tumult and alarm. 
With one accord the country people crowded into 
the city, and the roads outside the walls were 
blocked with thronging wagons and multitudes of 
affrighted men, women, and children. At night 
the advance of Porsena's army could be traced 
by the flames of the burning villages. And all day 
long horsemen came riding to the city with news 
that made every Roman turn pale with fear. 

" There is only one way to save the city," said 
the Consul, "and that is by destroying the great 
bridge which the enemy's army must cross before 
entering Rome ; " and he gave orders to cut it down. 

But even as he spoke, news came that Porsena 



44 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

was already at hand with his great army of ninety 
thousand men. There was no time for hesitation, 
and the brow of the Consul betrayed the despair 
that was in his heart. " They will be upon us 
before the bridge goes down," he said. 

Then Horatius, the captain of the gate, boldly 
volunteered to defend the passage to the bridge 
while it was being destroyed. " I, too, will defend 
it and stand at your right hand," said Spurius 
Lartius of the tribe of Ramnes. 

" And I will stand by you on the left," said 
Herminius of the tribe of Tities. 

So the three went forth and battled with the van- 
guard of Porsenas host, while the Roman soldiers 
with ax and prying lever labored to overthrow the 
bridge. The fight was sharp and bloody, and many 
an Etruscan fell at the hands of the brave de- 
fenders. At length there was a great creaking and 
cracking of timbers, and a loud shout from the 
Romans warned Horatius and his fellows to hurry 
back before the bridge should fall. But Horatius 
stood firmly at his post until his companions had 
escaped and a fearful crash told him that the bridge 
was down and Rome was saved. Then he turned 
quickly and sprang into the river. His heavy 
armor weighed him down, but still he breasted the 
yellow waves of the Tiber, and soon to the great 
joy of his friends he reached the opposite shore, 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 45 

where the welcoming hands of the city's rulers 
received him. Thus by the supreme courage of 
three men, Rome was saved from destruction. 

Roman historians end the story quite differently 
and say that Porsena with his mighty army actually 
entered the city and reduced it to subjection. But 
all Roman history of that time is little else than 
romance, and the poet's version of the story may be 
no less true than that of the historian. Certainly it 
is pleasant to read of courage and patriotism such 
as fired the heart of Horatius ; and it is pleasanter 
still to think that he was richly rewarded by the 
gratitude of his countrymen. 

In reading Macaulay's ballad, the chief difficulty 
is in pronouncing the great number of proper 
names contained in it, and understanding their 
application. A large number of these names are of 
cities and other places in ancient Italy, while others 
are of noted persons who are supposed to have 
taken part in that famous attack and defense of 
Rome. Several of these latter names, however, are 
fictitious, having been invented for the purposes of 
the story-teller. The chief beauty of the poem con- 
sists, probably, in the majestic swing of the verses 
and the martial ardor that pervades it from begin- 
ning to end. In reading it we feel as though we 
were present at the conflict and had a personal 
interest in the success of the hero. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 47 

II. HORATIUS 
A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX 1 

I 

Lars Porsena 2 of Clusium 3 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the Nine Gods he swore it, 

And named a trysting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth, 
East and west, and south and north, 

To summon his array. 

11 

East and west, and south and north, 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

Who lingers in his home, 
When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome ! 

in 

The horsemen and the footmen 
Are pouring in amain 

1 The city of Rome was supposed to have been founded 753 B.C. 
This date then is equivalent to 393 B.C. 

2 Lars Por'se na. Lars was a title given to Etruscan kings. 

3 Clu'si um. A powerful Etruscan city about eighty miles north of 
Rome. See map. 



48 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

From many a stately market place, 
From many a fruitful plain ; 

From many a lonely hamlet, 
Which, hid by beech and pine, 

Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest 
Of purple Apennine ; 

IV 

From lordly Volaterrae, 1 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From sea-girt Populonia, 1 

Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinia's snowy mountain tops 

Fringing the southern sky ; 



From the proud mart of Pisae, 1 

Queen of the western waves, 
Where ride Massilia's 2 triremes 

Heavy with fair-haired slaves; 
From where sweet Clanis 3 wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers ; 
From where Cortona 1 lifts to heaven 

Her diadem of towers. 

1 Vol a ter'rae, Pop'u lo'ni a, P'i'sae, Cor to'na. Etruscan cities united 
in the league against Rome. See map. 

2 Mas sill a. Marseilles in southern France. 

3 Clanis. A small river on which Clusium was situated. See map. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 49 

VI 

Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's 1 rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 2 
Beyond all streams Clitumnus * 

Is to the herdsman dear ; 
Best of all pools the fowler loves 

The great Volsinian mere. 3 

VII 

But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian hill ; 
Unwatched along Clitumnus 

Grazes the milk-white steer ; 
Unharmed the waterfowl may dip 

In the Volsinian mere. 

VIII 

The harvests of Arretium 4 

This year old men shall reap ; 
This year young boys in Umbro 1 

Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
And in the vats of Luna 4 

This year the must shall foam 

1 Au'ser, Cli tum'nus, Um'bro. Small streams. See map. 

2 Cim In'i an hill. A lofty volcanic height situated between 
Rome and Clusium. 

3 Vol sin'i an mere. A lake halfway between Rome and Clusium. 

4 Arre'tium (-shum), Lii'na. Etruscan cities. See map. 

NINE CHOICE POEMS — 4 



50 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Round the white feet of laughing girls 
Whose sires have marched to Rome. 



IX 

There be thirty chosen prophets, 

The wisest of the land, 
Who always by Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand ; 
Evening and morn the Thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er, 
Traced from the right 1 on linen white 

By mighty seers of yore 



And with one voice the Thirty 

Have their glad answer given : 
"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; 

Go forth, beloved of Heaven ; 
Go, and return in glory 

To Clusium's royal dome, 
And hang round Nurscia's 2 altars 

The golden shields of Rome/' 

XI 

And now hath every city 
Sent up her tale 3 of men ; 

1 from the right. The writings of the Etruscans were read from 
right to left, ^ Nur'sci a. The Etruscan goddess of fortune. 
3 tale. Allotment, due share. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 5 1 

The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium 1 

Is met the great array. 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

Upon the trysting day. 

XII 

For all the Etruscan armies 

Were ranged beneath his eye, 
And many a banished Roman, 

And many a stout ally ; 
And with a mighty following 

To join the muster came 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 2 

Prince of the Latian 3 name. 

XIII 

But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright : 
From all the spacious champaign 

To Rome men took their flight. 
A mile around the city 

The throng stopped up the ways ; 
A fearful sight it was to see 

Through two long nights and days. 

1 Su'tri um. A small Etruscan town about thirty miles north of 
Rome. See map. 

2 Tus'cu Ian Mam il'i us. A prince of the Mamilian family, son-in- 
law of Tarquinius. 

3 La'tian (la'shn). Pertaining to the country of Latium. 



52 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

XIV 

For aged folk on crutches, 

And women great with child, 
And mothers sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled, 
And sick men borne in litters 

High on the necks of slaves, 
And troops of sunburnt husbandmen 

With reaping hooks and staves, 

xv 

And droves of mules and asses 

Laden with skins of wine, 
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 

And endless herds of kine, 
And endless trains of wagons 

That creaked beneath the weight 
Of corn sacks and of household goods, 

Choked every roaring gate. 

XVI 

Now from the rock Tarpeian 1 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The Fathers of the City, 2 

They sat all night and day, 

1 rock Tar pe'ian. A steep rock in Rome from which traitors were 
hurled to their death, used as a watchtower. 

2 Fathers of the City. The senators. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 53 

For every hour some horseman came 
With tidings of dismay. 

XVII 

To eastward and to westward 

Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
Nor house nor fence nor dovecot 

In Crustumerium 1 stands. 
Verbenna 2 down to Ostia 3 

Hath wasted all the plain ; 
Astur 4 hath stormed Janiculum, 5 

And the stout guards are slain. 

XVIII 

I wis, 6 in all the Senate, 

There was no heart so bold 
But sore it ached and fast it beat, 

When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the Consul, 

Up rose the Fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 

1 Crus tu mer'i um. A town east of Rome, noted for the fertility 
of its surrounding fields. See map. 

2 Ver ben'na. N.o such person is mentioned in the old legend. The 
name was probably invented by Macaulay. 

3 Os'ti a. Seaport of Rome at the mouth of the Tiber. See map. 

4 As'tur. Another name invented by Macaulay. 

5 Jan ic'u lum. A hill on the Tiber opposite Rome. The great 
bridge connected it with the city. 

6 I wis. Certainly. 



54 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

XIX 

They held a council standing 

Before the River Gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess, 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the Consul roundly, 

" The bridge must straight go down ; 
For, since Janiculum is lost, 

Naught else can save the town." 

xx 

Just then a scout came flying, 

All wild with haste and fear : 
" To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul ; 

Lars Porsena is here ! " 
On the low hills to westward 

The Consul fixed his eye, 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Rise fast along the sky. 

XXI 

And nearer fast, and nearer, 

Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
And louder still, and still more loud, 
From underneath that rolling cloud, 
Is heard the trumpet's war note proud, 

The trampling and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears, 
Far to left and far to right, 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 55 

In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
The long array of helmets bright, 
The long array of spears. 

XXII 

And plainly and more plainly, 

Above that glimmering line, 
Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 
But the banner of proud Clusium 

Was highest of them all, 
The terror of the Umbrian, 

The terror of the Gaul. 

XXIII 

And plainly and more plainly 

Now might the burghers know, 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucumo. 1 
There Cilnius 2 of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of the fourfold shield, 
Girt with the brand none else may wield, 
Tolumnius 3 with the belt of gold, 
And dark Verbenna from the hold 

By reedy Thrasymene. 4 

1 Lu'cu mo. A title given to an Etruscan prince or king. 

2 Cil'ni us. An Etruscan lucumo afterwards friendly to the Romans. 

3 To lum'ni us. A king of Veii, a short distance north of Rome. 

4 Thras r y mene. A lake near Clusium. 



56 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

XXIV 

Fast by the royal standard, 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clusium 

Sat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 1 

That wrought the deed of shame. 

xxv 

But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. 
On the house tops was no woman 

But spat towards him and hissed, 
No child but screamed out curses 

And shook its little fist. 

XXVI 

But the Consul's brow was sad, 

And the Consul's speech was low, 
And darkly looked he at the wall, 

And darkly at the foe. 
" Their van will be upon us 

Before the bridge goes down ; 
And if they once may win the bridge, 

What hope to save the town ? " 

1 Sex'tus. The second son of the banished king Tarquinius. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 57 

XXVII 

Then out spake brave Horatius, 1 

The Captain of the Gate : 
" To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late. 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers 

And the temples of his gods, 

XXVIII 

" And for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest, 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 2 

Who feed the eternal flame, 
To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

XXIX 

" Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 

1 Ho ra'tius (-shus). The three original tribes of Rome are repre- 
sented by the defenders of the bridge. Horatius was of the tribe of 
Luceres ; Spurius Lartius (laVshus) was of the Ramnes ; and Herminius 
was of the Tities. 

2 holy maidens. The priestesses of Vesta, of whom there were two 
for each of the three tribes. 



58 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

In yon strait path a thous 

May weD be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge v.-:::: rae? " 

XXX 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 
A Ramnian proud was he: 

M Lo. I will stand at thy right hand, 
And keep the bridge with thee." 

And out spake strong Herminius : 
Of Titian blood was he : 

XXXI 

" Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
"As thou sayest, so let it be." 

And straight against that great array 
Forth went the dauntless Three. 

For Romans in Rente's quarrel 
Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 

In the brave days :: :1a 

xxxn 

Then none was for a party : 
Then all were for the State ; 

Then the great man helped the poor, 
And the poor man loved the great : 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 59 

Then lands were fairly portioned ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
The Romans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 

XXXIII 

Now Roman is to Roman 

More hateful than a foe ; 
And the Tribunes * beard the high, 

And the Fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction, 

In battle we wax cold ; 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 

xxxiv 

Now while the Three were tightening 

Their harness on their backs, 
The Consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an ax ; 
And Fathers "mixed with Commons 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props below. 

xxxv 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, 
Came flashing back the noonday light, 

1 Tribunes. Officers whose duty it was to protect the common 
people against the encroachments of the nobles, or patricians. 



60 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Rank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee, 
As that great host, with measured tread, 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 

Where stood the dauntless Three. 

xxxvi 

The Three stood calm and silent 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose ; 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array : 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way ; 

XXXVII 

Aunus x from green Tif ernum, 2 

Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
And Seius, 3 whose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva's 4 mines; 

1 Au'nus. Another name invented by Macaulay. 

2 Tifer'num. A town in the north of Umbria near the sources of 
the Tiber. See map. 

3 Se'ius. There were several noble Romans of this name, but there 
is no historical mention of this one. 

4 Il'va. The island of Elba in the Mediterranean Sea. Its iron mines 
which were famous in ancient times are still productive. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 6l 

And Picus, 1 long to Clusium 

Vassal in peace and war, 
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that gray crag where, girt with towers, 
The fortress of Nequinum 2 lowers 

O'er the pale waves of Nan 3 

XXXVIII 

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus 

Into the stream beneath ; 
Herminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth ; 
At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust, 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

XXXIX 

Then Ocnus 4 of Falerii 5 

Rushed on the Roman Three 
And Lausulus of Urgo, 6 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns 4 of Volsinium, 5 

Who slew the great wild boar, 
The great wild boar that had his den 

1 Pi'cus. An Umbrian chief, in league with Porsena. 

2 Ne qui'num. A city of Umbria afterwards called Narnia. See map. 

3 Nar. A small stream in Umbria which flows into the Tiber. 

4 Oc'nus, Ar'uns. Other names invented by Macaulay. 

5 Fa le'ri i, Vol sin'i um. Cities. See map. 

6 Ur'go. Ancient name of the island of Gorgona, about twelve miles 
off the coast of Etruria. 



62 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Amidst the reeds of Cosa's ! fen, 
And wasted fields and slaughtered men 
Along Albinia's 2 shore. 

XL 

Herminius smote down Aruns; 

Lartius laid Ocnus low ; 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow. 
" Lie there," he cried, " fell pirate ! 

No more, aghast and pale, 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 
The track of thy destroying bark. 
No more Campania's 3 hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns when they spy 

Thy thrice accursed sail." 

XLI 

But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes ; 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' length from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 

1 Co'sa. City. See map. 

2 Al binl a. A small river flowing into the sea near Cosa. Accord- 
ing to Pliny, a monstrous wild boar infested this region during the time 
of Porsena. 

3 Cam pa'ni a. A province of Italy, south of Rome. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 63 

XLII 

But hark ! the cry is Astur ; 

And lo ! the ranks divide, 
And the great Lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

Which none but he can wield. 

XLIII 

He smiled on those bold Romans 

A smile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter 2 

Stand savagely at bay ; 
But will ye dare to follow, 

If Astur clears the way ? " 

XLIV 

Then, whirling up his broadsword 

With both hands to the height, 
He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 
With shield and blade Horatius 

Right deftly turned the blow. 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 

1 " she-wolfs litter."" It was an ancient tradition that Romulus and 
Remus, the founders of Rome, were nourished when babes by a she-wolf. 



64 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

The Tuscans raised a joyful cry- 
To see the red blood flow. 

XLV 

He reeled and on Herminius 

He leaned one breathing space, 
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 
Through teeth and skull and helmet 

So fierce a thrust he sped, 
The good sword stood a handbreadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 

XLVI 

And the great Lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke, 
As falls on Mount Alvernus 1 

A thunder-smitten oak. 
Far o'er the crashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
And the pale augurs, 2 muttering low, 

Gaze on the blasted head. 

XLVII 

On Astur's throat Horatius 

Right firmly pressed his heel, 
And thrice and four times tugged amain 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 

1 Alver'nus. The mountain height that divides the sources of the 
Tiber from those of the Arno. See map. 

2 au'gurs. Priests who foretold the future by observing the flight 
of birds, the entrails of animals, etc. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 65 

" And see," he cried, "the welcome, 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucumo comes next 

To taste our Roman cheer ? " 

XL VIII 

But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran, 
Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, 

Along that glittering van. 
There lacked not men of prowess, 

Nor men of lordly race ; 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round the fatal place. 

XLIX 

But all Etruria's noblest 

Felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses, 

In the path the dauntless Three ; 
And, from the ghastly entrance 

Where those bold Romans stood, 
All shrank, like boys who, unaware, 
Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 

Lies amidst bones and blood. 



Was none who would be foremost 
To lead such dire attack ; 

NINE CHOICE POEMS — 5 



66 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

But those behind cried " Forward ! " 

And those before cried "Back!" 
And backward now and forward 

Wavers the deep array ; 
And on the tossing sea of steel 
To and fro the standards reel, 
And the victorious trumpet peal 
Dies fitfully away. 

LI 

Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the crowd ; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting loud. 
" Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 

LII 

Thrice looked he at the city, 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread; 
And, white with fear and hatred, 

Scowled at the narrow way 
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 

LIII 

But meanwhile ax and lever 
Have manfully been plied, 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 67 

And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! ' ; 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

LIV 

Back darted Spurius Lartius, 

Herminius darted back ; 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 

They would have crossed once more. 

LV 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

LVI 

And, like a horse unbroken 

When first he feels the rein, 
The furious river struggled hard, 

And tossed his tawny mane, 



68 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

And burst the curb and bounded, 

Rejoicing to be free, 
And, whirling down in fierce career 
Battlement and plank and pier, 

Rushed headlong to the sea. 

LVII 

Alone stood brave Horatius 

But constant still in mind, 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before 

And the broad flood behind. 
" Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face. 
" Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 

" Now yield thee to our grace." 

LVIII 

Round turned he, as not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see ; 
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus naught spake he ; 
But he saw on Palatinus x 

The white porch of his home, 
And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome : 

LIX 

" O Tiber ! father Tiber ! 
To whom the Romans pray, 

1 Pal'ati'nus. The Palatine hill, one of the seven on which Rom 
was built. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 69 

A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 
Take thou in charge this day ! " * 

So he spake, and speaking sheathed 
The good sword by his side, 

And with his harness 2 on his back 
Plunged headlong in the tide. 

LX 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank, 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank ; 
And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

LXI 

But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain ; 
And fast his blood was flowing, 

And he was sore in pain, 
And heavy with his armor, 

And spent with changing blows ; 
And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still again he rose. 

1 The Tiber river had its guardian divinity whom the augurs invoked 
in their prayers as " Father Tiber." 

2 harness. Armor. 



JO NINE CHOICE POEMS 

LXH 

Never, I ween, 1 did swimmer, 

In such an evil case. 
Struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing pla 
But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart within, 
And our good father Tiber 

Bare bravely up his chin. 2 

LXIII 

" Curse on him ! " quoth 3 false Sextus ; 

" Will not the villain drown \ 
But for this stay, ere :"_:se :■: day 

We should have sacked the to 
u Heaven help him! n quoth Lars Porsena, 

u And bring him safe to shore ; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before." 

LXIY 

And now he feels the bottom ; 

Now on dry earth he stands 
Now round him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands : 
And now, with shouts and clapping 

And :;::se ;: weeping loud, 

1 ween. Su: : :se. think. 

2 Bare bravely up his chin. That is. held up his head and preserved 
him from drowning. 

3 quoth. Said exclaimed. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 71 

He enters through the River Gate, 
Borne by the joyous crowd. 1 



LXV 

They gave him of the corn land, 

That was of public right, 
As much as two strong oxen 

Could plow from morn till night ; 
And they made a molten image 2 

And set it up on high, 
And there it stands unto this day 

To witness if I lie. 



LXVI 

It stands in the Comitium, 

Plain for all folk to see, 
Horatius in his harness 

Halting upon one knee ; 
And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold, 
How valiantly he kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

1 Some Roman historians who tell this story assert that Horatius 
defended the bridge alone, and that he perished while attempting to 
swim across the river. 

2 molten image. A bronze statue which long afterwards was struck 
with lightning. It was finally placed on a raised platform above the 
Comitium, where it was believed to bring good fortune to the state. 
The Comitium (see stanza lxvi) was a place of popular assembly 
adjoining the Forum. 



72 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

LXVII 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Unto the men of Rome, 
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 

To charge the Volscian 1 home ; 
And wives still pray to Juno 

For boys with hearts as bold 
As his who kept the bridge so well 

In the brave days of old. 

LXVIII 

And in the nights of winter, 

When the cold north winds blow, 
And the long howling of the wolves 

Is heard amidst the snow ; 
When round the lonely cottage 

Roars loud the tempest's din, 
And the good logs of Algidus 2 

Roar louder yet within ; 

LXIX 

When the oldest cask is opened, 

And the largest lamp is lit; 
When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 

Around the firebrands close ; 

1 Vorscian (-shn). The Volsci were a people of central Italy, long 
the enemies of Rome. At the time of the supposed writing of this bal- 
lad they and the Romans were engaged in actual warfare. 

2 Al gi'dus. A wooded hill not far from Rome, noted for its oaks. 



A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME 



73 



When the girls are weaving baskets, 
And the lads are shaping bows ; 

LXX 

When the goodman 1 mends his armor, 

And trims his helmet's plume ; 
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 

Goes flashing through the loom ; 
With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told, 
How well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 



III. THE POET 



The name of Thomas 
Babington Macaulay is re- 
membered rather as that of 
a brilliant essayist and prose 
writer than as that of a poet. 
He was born at Rothley 
Temple, England, in 1800, 
and from a child displayed 
remarkable powers of in- 
tellect. He was educated 
chiefly at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, where he dis- 



/^ 




Thomas Babington Macaulay. 



tinguished himself as a debater and won first honors as a college 



1 goodman. Master of the house. 



74 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

-■ 
poet. In 1S25 he took the master's degree and in the following 

year was admitted to the bar at Lincoln's Inn, London. 

In 1S30 he was elected to Parliament. He afterwards spent 
several years in India as the legal adviser to the Supreme Court 
of Calcutta. L'pon his return to England he was appointed Sec- 
retary for War under the administration of Lord Melbourne. He 
again entered Parliament in 1S39. and from that time until his 
death was one of the most prominent figures in the political and 
literary circles of London. In 1S57 he was honored by being 
elevated to the peerage under the title of Baron Macaulay. He 

i in London two years later. 

Macaulay's literary" and critical essays, which include much of 
his best work, were written for the E&nbu rgh Ret ten 1825—1 £44 
His biographical essays, which are not inferior in quality, were con- 
tributed to the '"Encyclopaedia Britannica " (1857— 1858 . His 
poetry, which though popular cannot be ranked with the highest, 
is, for the most part, included in the small volume entitled " Lays 
of Ancient Rome.*' Besides the "Lays," he wrote the ballads of 
"The Spanish Armada," " Moncontour," and "The Battle of 
Ivry." He did not live to complete his •'"History of England," 
the great work to which his best energies as a writer were 
devoted. Eour volumes appeared during his lifetime, and a fifth 
was published after his death. 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 

I. A LOVER OF THE SEA 

Somewhat more than a hundred years ago a 
little boy, slightly lame because of a crooked foot, 
was often seen playing on the seashore in Aber- 
deenshire, Scotland. He had a proud, handsome 
face, with strangely bright eyes which attracted the 
attention of all who saw him. It was plain that he 
was a spoiled child, very self-willed and imperious ; 
and the poor nurse who looked after him was often 
unable to control him or curb his ugly temper. 

People said that his father, who was now dead, 
had been a reckless, worthless fellow although be- 
longing to one of the noblest families in England ; 
and it was known that his mother was peevish and 
fretful, and little fitted to have the care of a boy so 
strong-minded and obstinate. So, now, although 
not more than four or five years old, George 
Gordon, as he was called, was a wayward child, 
as impatient of restraint as the waves of the sea. 

He had his gentler, more lovable moods, how- 
ever, and there was nothing that pleased him so 
much as to ramble along the shore and watch 

75 



;f NINE CHOICE POEMS 

the surf beating savagely against the rocks. He 
would sit for hours upon the lonely beach, gazing 
out upon the deep sea and listening to the u mu s 
in its roar." His grandfather had been a famous 
admiral whose ship had been wrecked in a great 
storm, and the boy often pictured to himself some 
mighty fleet sweeping proudly over the ocean only 
to be ingulfed beneath its waters. Then he would 
wonder how far the watery plain extended, and he 
would ask his nurse to tell him stories of the great 
cities and empires that once bordered its shores. 

Thus the boy came to love the ocean. From 
dabbling in the ripples on the beach he soon grew 
bolder and ventured into the boiling surf. Then 
he wantonly threw himself among the breakers, 
and when like a bubble he was borne onward by 
the waves, his delight was unbounded. Sometimes 
he would swim far out from the shore, and once 
when the sea suddenly became ruffled he began 
to fear that the billows would overwhelm him ; 
but the very terror gave him pleasure, and he 
became more daring than ever. 

People who saw him thus sporting fearlessly in 
the waves and loving the ocean as though it were a 
living thing, said to one another, M He is a child of 
the sea! " 

But George Gordon did not remain long in 
Aberdeenshire. He was sent to school, first in a 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN jy 

Scottish town and then in an English, but he never 
forgot his love for the sea. He was only ten years 
old when by the death of his great uncle he fell 
heir to rich estates in England and to the title of 
Lord Byron. The little lord became more and 
more reckless and imperious as he grew 7 older. 
He rebelled against all restraints, and because he 
fancied that some people talked lightly about his 
crooked foot, he began to look upon all mankind 
with scorn. 

When he came of aore he left his ancestral home 
and traveled for two or three years in the south 
of Europe. On returning to London he wrote a 
long poem entitled " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," 
in which he described in beautiful language the 
things he had seen on his journey, and the impres- 
sions they had made on his mind. No such descrip- 
tions had ever before been attempted, and the poem 
at once made him famous. 

" Who is this Lord Byron who writes so entranc- 
ingly ? " was the question which everybody asked. 

He might then have made himself a name es- 
teemed and loved by all good people, as many 
another poet has done before and since. But the 
spirit of the spoiled child remained with him, and 
his scorn of what is best in the world deepened. 
Many persons, therefore, while admiring his poetry, 
shunned his society; and this served to make his 



?8 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

hatred all the more bitter. At length he sailed 
again from his native land never to return. 

When he was twenty-nine years old and living 
in the city of Venice, he added two more parts, or 
cantos, to " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," which were 
even superior in beauty to those earlier parts that 
had made him famous. His love for the sea had 
never left him, but rather had grown stronger with 
his years of manhood. And so, at the very end 
of the last canto of the poem, he wrote a rapturous 
address to the ocean, beginning with, — 

" Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll." 

It was the expression of the thoughts that had 
been deepening in his mind ever since as a child 
he played on the seashore in Aberdeenshire. In it 
he spoke of the weakness of man who, though he 
may take the title of lord of the sea, is powerless 
against the ocean's might. Man may mark the 
earth with ruin, but he can do nothing to mar 
the grandeur and the beauty of the sea. The 
great battle ships — "oak leviathans " he calls them, 
from the water monster mentioned in the Book of 
Job — are only the ocean's toys. Four great em- 
pires once bordered the Mediterranean Sea and 
were typical of man's power; but they have long 
ago disappeared, while the sea itself remains un- 
changed. Nations grow old and die, fertile realms 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 79 

become barren deserts, but the sea is ever the same, 
"time writes no wrinkles on its brow." Towards 
the end of his address the poet referred touchingly 
to his childish love for the ocean, calling vividly to 
memory those delightful hours on the stormy shore 
of Aberdeen. 

There are not many words or passages in these 
stanzas that will be hard for you to understand, but 
there are some beautiful figures which it will be 
well for you to study. Lord Byron was careless of 
the rules of grammar, and in the last line of the 
third stanza he commits an error which all gram- 
mar-school pupils are warned to avoid. But poets, 
by what is called poetic license, are permitted to 
deviate from the established forms of speech; and 
doubtless this error was intentional. At any rate, 
if the poet had written " lie " instead of " lay," the 
rhyme would have been defective. 

The beauty of the poem lies in the grandeur of 
the thoughts to which it gives expression and in 
the sublime rhythm of its numbers. If we read it 
aright, we shall feel that we are actually standing 
upon the ocean's shore, looking at the ceaseless roll 
of its waves, and listening to their thunderous roar. 

It is interesting to know that the strange, unhappy 
man, who loved the sea and wrote such wonderful 
poetry, met his death while engaged in defending 
the cause of human liberty. 



80 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

II. STANZAS FROM "CHILDE HAROLD" 



There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not Man the less, but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be or have been before, 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

ii 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin, his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 

in 

His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields 

Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 

And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 

For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 

Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 

And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 8 1 

And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 

IV 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's 1 pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 2 

v 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters washed them power while they were free, 3 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ; 
Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow ; 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

1 Ar ma'da. The great fleet sent by Philip of Spain against England 
in 1588. See any English history of this period. 

2 Trafalgar'. On October 21, 1805, Lord Nelson won his famous 
victory over the French-Spanish fleet off the cape of Trafalgar. 

3 In many versions of the poem this line reads — 

" Thy waters wasted them while they were free." 
We have given the reading that appears in Lord Byron's own manu- 
script. 

NINE CHOICE POEMS — 6 



82 NINE CHOICE POEMS 



VI 



Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempest ; in all time, 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread,. fathomless, alone. 

VII 

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward. From a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
For I was as it were a child of thee, 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 

VIII 

My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme 
Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit 
My midnight lamp — and what is writ is writ, — 
Would it were worthier! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me — and the glow 
Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint, and low. 



APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN 



83 



III. THE POET 



George Noel Gordon Byron, Lord Byron, was born in London 
in 1 788. His father was a captain in the Guards, and he could 
trace his ancestry back to the time of the Norman Conquest. He 
inherited his title and large estates, including Newstead Abbey, 
from his granduncle William, the fifth Lord Byron. His educa- 
tion was neither systematic nor thorough, but he studied at 
Harrow and afterwards at Cambridge, from which he received 
his degree of M.A. at the 
age of twenty. 

His first volume of poems, 
" Hours of Idleness," was 
published before he had 
completed his nineteenth 
year. It was severely criti- 
cised in the Edinburgh Re- 
view, and to this criticism 
Lord Byron replied in a bit- 
ter satire entitled " English ; 
Bards and Scotch Review- 
ers." This at once brought 
him into public notice and paved the way for future successes. 

He took his seat in the House of Lords, but made no mark as 
a politician. From 1809 to 181 1 he traveled extensively in 
Europe, and thus acquired the material for the first two can- 
tos of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." The publication of this 
work at once made him famous. His later life was spent for 
the most part in Italy and in other Continental countries where he 
was frequently engaged in aiding revolutionary movements. 

In 1823 he went to Greece to assist the Greek insurgents in 
their struggle for freedom from the Turks. He was made corn- 




Lord Byron, 



34 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

mander in chief of certain of the Greek forces, but died of a fever 
before the end of the year. 

Byron's poetical works nil many volumes and are full of vigor 
and a beauty peculiar to themselves. Although once extremely 
popular they are now read but seldom, and the poet is known 

erly by brief extracts from his longer poems, as the "Apos- 
trophe to the Ocean" and ''The Battle of Waterloo." 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 

I. NAPOLEON AT RATISBON 

In Bavaria, on the south bank of the Danube 
River, there is a famous old city called Ratisbon. 
It is not a very large city, but its history can be 
traced far back to the time when the Romans had a 
military camp there which they used as an outpost 
against the German barbarians. It is a quaint old 
place, with a fine cathedral and many famous 
buildings, and at one time it ranked among the 
most flourishing towns of Germany. 

During the earlier years of the nineteenth 
century, Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the 
French, was engaged in bitter warfare with Austria, 
and indeed with all the rest of Europe. In April, 
1809, the Austrian army, under Grand Duke 
Charles, was intrenched in Ratisbon and the neigh- 
boring towns. There it was attacked by the 
French army commanded by Napoleon himself and 
led by the brave Marshal Lannes, Duke of Monte- 
bello. The battle raged, first in this place then in 
that, for several days, and no one could tell which 
of the combatants would be victorious. At length 
Napoleon decided to end the matter by storming 
the city and, if possible, driving the archduke from 
his stronghold. He, therefore, sent Marshal 

85 



86 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Lannes forward to direct the battle, while he 
watched the conflict and gave commands from a 
distance. For a long time the issue seemed doubt- 
ful, and not even Napoleon could guess what the 
result would be. Late in the day, however, French 
valor prevailed, and Marshal Lannes forced his 
way into the city. 

It was at this time that the incident described 
so touchingly by the poet Browning is supposed to 
have taken place. There is no evidence, however, 
that the story has any foundation in fact. It illus- 
trates, nevertheless, the spirit of bravery and self- 
sacrifice that prevailed among the soldiers of 
Napoleon ; and such an incident might, indeed, 
have happened not only at Ratisbon but at almost 
any place where the Emperor's presence urged 
his troops to victory. For, such was Napoleon's 
magic influence and such was the love in which 
he was held by his soldiers, that thousands of 
young men were ready cheerfully to give their 
lives for the promotion of his selfish ambition. 

The poem was first published in 1843, ' m a small 
volume entitled " Dramatic Lyrics." The same 
volume contained the well-known rhyme of " The 
Pied Piper of Hamelin." Robert Browning was at 
that time a young man of thirty, and most of the 
poems which afterwards made him famous were 
still unwritten, 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 87 



II. THE POEM 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 

A mile or so away, 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming day ; 
With neck outthrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans 

That soar the earth may fall, 
Let once my army leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full galloping ; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect — 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 
We've got you Ratisbon ! 



88 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

The Marshal's in the market place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire., 
Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed ; his plans 

Soared up again like Are. 

The chief's eve flashed ; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A fllm the mother eagle's eve 

When her bruised eaglet breathes ; 
" You're wounded ! " " Nay." the soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
" I'm killed. Sire ! " And his chief beside, 

Smiling the boy fell dead. 



III. THE POET 



Robert Browning was born at Camberwell near London, May 7, 
1 Si 2. He was carefully educated at home and by private tut: 
and later at London University, from which he graduated at the 
:_r of twenty. It was through reading : stray volume of S 
early poems that his poetic nature was fully aroused and he deter- 
mined to devote himself to literary pursuits. His first published 
work. "'Pauline/* ed anon; in 1833. 

The first poem to which Mr. Browning attached his name was 
" Paracelsus,'" which appeared in 1835. This introduced him to 
the society of many of the foremost writers of the time, including 
Wordsworth. Leigh Hunt. Dickens,, and Landor. Other works 
followed at frequent intervals, and almost every year saw the pub- 
lication of a new poem. In 183S. when twenty-six years of a. 



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 



89 



Mr. Browning made his first visit to Italy as an aid to the writing of 
his great poem, " Sordello." This work was published soon after 
his return to England in 
1840, but the results of his 
Italian sojourn were made 
more apparent in his later 
poems. Some of his poetical 
dramas, as "A Blot in the 
'Scutcheon" and "Colombe's 
Birthday," were put upon 
the stage, but with indiffer- 
ent success. In 1846 Mr. 
Browning was married to 
Elizabeth Barrett, herself the 
most noted female poet of 
modern times. 

Until the death of Mrs. Browning the two poets lived in Italy, 
chiefly at P'lorence. The last years of Mr. Browning were passed 
in Venice. He died there December 12, 1889. His poems are 
very numerous and written, for the most part, in a style which is 
peculiarly his own. Those most popular and best known to young 
readers are " Pippa Passes," " The Pied Piper of Hamelin," 
"How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix," "The 
Boy and the Angel," and " Herve Riel." 




Robert Browning, 



TO A SKYLARK 

I. THE SONG OF THE LARK 

Ox a pleasant evening in late summer the poet 
Shelley and his wife, Mary Shelley, were walking 
near the city of Leghorn in Italy. The sky was 
cloudless, the air was soft and balmy, and the 
earth seemed hushed into a restful stillness. The 
green lane along which they were walking was bor- 
dered by myrtle hedges, where crickets were softly 
chirping and fireflies were already beginning to 
light their lamps. From the fields beyond the 
hedges the grateful smell of new-mown hay was 
wafted, while in the hazy distance the church towers 
of the city glowed yellow in the last rays of the sun, 
and the gray-green sea rippled softly in the fading 
light of day. 

Suddenly, from somewhere above them, a burst 
of music fell upon their ears. It receded upward, 
but swelled into an ecstatic harmony, with fluttering 
intervals and melodious swervings such as no musi- 
cian's art can imitate. 

M What is that ? " asked the poet, as the song 
seemed to die away in the blue vault of heaven. 

" It is a skylark," answered his wife. 

l> Nay," said the poet, his face all aglow with the 
joy of the moment, M no mere bird ever poured forth 

90 



TO A SKYLARK 9 1 

such strains of music as that. I think, rather, that 
it is some blithe spirit embodied as a bird." 

" Let us imagine that it is so," said Mary. " But 
hearken, it is singing again, and soaring as it 
sings." 

11 Yes, and I can see it, too, like a flake of gold 
against the pale purple of the sky. It is so high 
that it soars in the bright rays of the sun, while we 
below are in the twilight shade. And now it is 
descending again, and the air is filled with its song. 
Hark to the rain of melody which it showers down 
upon us." 

They listened enraptured, while the bird poured 
forth its flood of song. When at length it ceased, 
and the two walked home in the deepening twilight, 
the poet said : — 

" We shall never know just what it was that sang 
so gloriously. But, Mary, what do you think is 
most like it?" 

" A poet," she answered. " There is nothing so 
like it as a poet wrapt in his own sweet thoughts 
and singing till the world is made to sing with him 
for very joy." 

" And I," said he, " would compare it to a beauti- 
ful maiden singing for love in some high palace 
tower, while all who hear her are bewitched by the 
enchanting melody." 

" And I," said she, " would compare it to a red, 



92 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

red rose sitting among its green leaves and giving 
its sweet perfumes to the summer breezes." 

" You speak well, Mary," said he ; " but let me 
make one other comparison. Is it not like a glow- 
worm lying unseen amid the grass and flowers, and 
all through the night casting a mellow radiance over 
them and filling them with divine beauty ? " 

" I do not like that comparison so well," was the 
answer. " Yet, after all, there is nothing so like it 
as a poet — as yourself, for instance." 

" No poet ever had its skill, because no poet was 
ever so free from care," said Shelley, sadly. " It is 
like an unbodied joy floating unrestrained whither- 
soever it will. Ah, Mary, if I had but half the 
gladness that this bird or spirit must know, I 
would write such poetry as would bewitch the 
world, and all men would listen, entranced, to my 
song." 

That night the poet could not sleep for thinking 
of the skylark's song. The next day he sat alone 
in his study putting into harmonious words the 
thoughts that filled his mind. In the evening he 
read to Mary a new poem entitled " To a Skylark." 
It was full of the melody inspired by the song 
of the bird. Its very meter suggested the joyous 
flight, the fluttering pauses, the melodious swerv- 
ings, the heavenward ascent of the bird. No 
poem has ever been written that is fuller of 



TO A SKYLARK 93 

beautiful images and sweet and joyous har- 
monies. 

Have you ever listened to the song of a bird 
and tried to attune your own thoughts to its un- 
restrained and untaught melodies ? There are no 
true skylarks in America, although in the far West 
there is a bird of similar habits which sings as it 
flies. Hence, you may never be able to repeat 
the experience of the poet or fully to appreciate 
the " harmonious madness " of his matchless poem. 
For no other bird is so literally the embodiment 
of song as the European skylark. 



II. THE POEM 



Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest 

Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 
Of the sunken sun, 



94 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

O'er which clouds are bright'ning, 
Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven, 

In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. 

Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear, 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare, 

From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see, 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden, 

Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not ; 



TO A SKYLARK 95 

Like a highborn maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 
Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower ; 

Like a glowworm golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
view ; 

Like a rose embowered 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflowered, 
Till the scent it gives 
Make faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awakened flowers, 

All that ever was 
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine : 

I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus Hymeneal, 
Or triumphal chaunt, 



96 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

Matched with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt, 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 

What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? What ignorance of pain ? 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee : 
Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream, 

Or how could thv notes flow in such a crvstal stream ? 

j j 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not ; 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught : 
Our sweetest sons;s are those that tell of saddest thought. 



*&* 



Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 

If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 



TO A SKYLARK 



97 



Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 
That thy brain must know, 

Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow, 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 




III. THE POET 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of the most brilliant of English poets, 
was born at Field Place in 
Sussex, England, on the four- 
teenth of August, 1792. His 
father was a country gentle- 
man of large means, and in 
his education he was afforded 
every advantage that wealth 
could confer. He entered 
Oxford University at the age 
of eighteen, but was expelled 
within a year for publishing 
a pamphlet of which the 
authorities did not approve. 
From that time he lived an 




Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



erratic and unsettled life in England, Scotland, Ireland, and on 
the Continent. He became an intimate friend of Lord Byron, 
nin£ choice poems — 7 



98 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

and numbered among his acquaintances many of the foremost 
men of letters in Great Britain. For the wrongs and sufferings 
of the laboring classes he always felt the deepest sympathy, and 
a large share of his means was freely given for the relief of the 
poor. 

The last four years of Shelley's life were spent for the most 
part near Pisa, in northern Italy. He was shipwrecked and 
drowned while sailing on the Gulf of Spezzia, July 8, 1822. His 
body was washed ashore, and under the direction of his friends 
was burned on the beach. His ashes were buried in the Protes- 
tant cemetery at Rome. 

The list of Shelley's works is long when we consider that he 
lived not quite thirty years. Among his longer poems, " Adonais," 
an elegy on the death of John Keats, is the most widely read. 
His drama entitled a The Cenci" is considered by many as the 
finest English tragedy written since Shakespeare. Of his minor 
poems, the best known are "To a Skylark," "The Cloud," "Ode 
to the West Wind," and "The Sensitive Plant." They should be 
read by every student of English literature. 



UNDER THE WILLOWS 

I. THE TREES AND THE POET 

In Cambridge, Massachusetts, not far from the 
home of James Russell Lowell, there once stood a 
clump of fine old willow trees. Mr. Lowell was 
a poet and he took great pleasure in looking -at 
these trees, at their gnarled and twisted trunks and 
their long, pendent branches. He could see beauty 
and grace where the eyes of men absorbed in busi- 
ness and money-getting could see nothing but de- 
formity or perhaps a little worthless timber. And 
so, as the years went by, he came to have a very 
tender feeling for those storm-twisted willows. 

One day when he returned home from his accus- 
tomed walk, he was in no very pleasant humor. 

"What do you think I saw just now?" he said. 
" Why, I saw a board nailed to one of my willows, 
and on it was this inscription: 'These trees for 
sale.' I believe the wretch who owns them is 
going to peddle them for firewood. It's an outrage." 

When he went into his study he could not read, 
he could not write, so full was his mind of thoughts 
about the trees. 

" If I had the money," he said, " I would buy the 
land they stand on and thus save these dear friends 
of a lifetime. But what can one do? The man 

99 



100 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

who owns them looks upon them as only so much 
cord wood." 

It happened that Mr. Lowell was just then pre- 
paring a collection of his poems for publication. 
This collection included M The Singing Leaves," 
" The First Snowfall," k> Yussouf," and several other 
very popular pieces. Besides these there was a 
long poem telling of the joyful coming of summer, 
describing the beauties of the month of June, and 
lauding his friends, the willow trees. Xow, the poet 
was much puzzled to find a title for his volume. 
He had decided to call the longer poem "A June 
Idvl ," and he thought that the same name might be 
given to the collection. 

" I doubt whether that would be wise," said his 
publisher. " Whittier has just sent in a new vol- 
ume entitled l A Summer Idyl/ and the resemblance 
would be too close." 

" True," said Mr. Lowell, " I did not know of 
that." 

One name after another was proposed, but to 
each there was a well-founded objection. 

''Suppose you name the long poem ' Elmwood/ 
after your home in Cambridge," suggested the pub- 
lisher; "for it really describes the delights of your 
own neighborhood in the pleasant month of June. 
Then call your volume ' Elmwood and Other Poems.' 
It will be a pleasing title." 



UNDER THE WILLOWS IOI 

" Never ! " cried Mr. Lowell, sharply. " It would 
be like throwing my home open to the public and 
making a show house of my sanctuary. It shall 
not be called ' Elmw r ood ' ; " and with that he began 
to fret and fume in a way that is not supposed to 
be common with poets. 

The publisher had nothing further to say. But 
as Mr. Lowell returned to his home that evening, 
the thought of the willows and of the sign nailed 
to them came again into his mind. 

" Much of that which I have written in my June 
idyl relates to those very wallows and was thought 
out beneath their branches," he said to himself. 
" Very many things that I describe happened in 
that very place. It was there that I saw the 
bluebird ' shifting his light load of song ' ; it was 
there that the bobolink came on that June morn- 
ing 'gurgling in ecstasy.' It was to the cooling 
shade of those old trees that the glorious June 
days so often tempted me * forth from the chimney's 
yawn' and from my well-worn books." 

Then his face lighted up as by a sudden in- 
spiration. " I have it ! " he exclaimed. " The 
poem shall be renamed 'Under the Willows'; 
and the volume shall bear the same title." 

And so, late in the year 1867, the little book was 
published and called " Under the Willows and Other 
Poems." 



102 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

You ask what became of the willow trees? 
They were not made into firewood after all. 
Some are still standing, and many an admirer of 
the poet has made a pious pilgrimage to the spot, 
not so much to see their gnarled trunks as to do 
reverence to the man who loved them so well. 
" It is a pleasure," says Mr. Lowell's editor, " to 
record the refusal of a newcomer into the neighbor- 
hood to have one of the trees destroyed which was 
inconveniently near the site of the house she was 
to build. She changed, instead, the site." 

The June idyl which gave name to the volume, 
and which was in part composed under the willows, 
is too long to be studied here in its completeness. 
But we may derive great pleasure from a careful 
reading of the introductory lines, which, in fact, com- 
prise about a quarter of the entire poem. These 
lines include the poet's rapturous praise of June, 
and in them you will find a sample of his most 
thoughtful and careful work. They contain little 
that requires explanation other than your own 
understanding will suggest, but each word picture 
should be carefully studied until its full meaning is 
apparent and all its beauties are discerned. The 
poet himself says : " The lines call back many moods. 
I think though there is a suggestion of something 
good in them, at least, and they are not silly." 



UNDER THE WILLOWS 103 



II. PART OF THE JUNE IDYL 

Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood, 
Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree, 
June is the pearl of our New England year. 
Still a surprisal, though expected long, 
Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait, * 
Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back, 
Then, from some southern ambush in the sky, 
With one great gush of blossom storms the world. 

A week ago the sparrow was divine ; 

The bluebird, shifting his light load of song 

From post to post along the cheerless fence, 

Was as a rhymer ere the poet come ; 

But now, oh rapture ! sunshine winged and voiced, 

Pipe blown through by the warm, wild breath of the West 

Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, 

Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one, 

The bobolink has come, and, like the soul 

Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 

Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what 

Save fane ! Dear June ! Now God be praised for Jane, 

May is a pious fraud of the almanac, 

A ghastly parody of real Spring 

Shaped out of snow and breathed with eastern wind ; 

Or if, o'er-confident, she trust the date, 

And with her handful of anemones, 

Herself as shivery, steal into the sun, 

The season need but turn his hour glass round, 



104 NINE CHOICE POEM§ 

And Winter, suddenly, like crazy Lear, 1 
Reels back, and brings the dead May in his arms, 
Her budding breasts and wan dislustered front 
With frosty streaks and drifts of his white beard 
All overblown. Then, warmly walled with books, 
While my wood fire supplies the sun's defect, 
Whispering old forest sagas in its dreams, 
I take my May down from the happy shelf 
Where perch the world's rare song birds in a row, 
Waiting my choice to open with full breast, 
And beg an alms of springtime, ne'er denied 
Indoors by vernal Chaucer, 2 whose fresh woods 
Throb thick with merle and mavis 3 all the year. 

July breathes hot, sallows the crispy fields, 
Curls up the wan leaves of the lilac hedge, 
And every eve cheats us with show of clouds 
That braze 4 the horizon's western rim, or hang: 
Motionless, with heaped canvas drooping idly, 
Like a dim fleet by starving men besieged, 
Conjectured half, and half descried afar, 
Helpless of wind, and seeming to slip back 
Adown the smooth curve of the oily sea. 

But June is full of invitations sweet, 

Forth from the chimney's yawn and thrice-read tomes 

To leisurely delights and sauntering thoughts 

1 Lear. See Shakespeare's •'• King Lear." Act IV. Scene IV. 

2 vernal Chaucer. Chaucer's poems abound in allusions to the com- 
ing of the spring. See any cyclopaedia for account of Chaucer's life. 

3 merle and mavis. Blackbird and song thrush. 

4 braze. Make brassy in appearance. 



UNDER THE WILLOWS 105 

That brook no ceiling narrower than the blue. 
The cherry, drest for bridal, at my pane 
Brushes, then listens, Will he come ? The bee, 
All dusty as a miller, takes his toll 
Of powdery gold, and grumbles. What a day 
To sun me and do nothing ! Nay, I think 
Merely to bask and ripen is sometimes 
The student's wiser business ; the brain 
That forages all climes to line its cells, 
Ranging both worlds on lightest wings of wish, 
Will not distill the juices it has sucked 
To the sweet substance of pellucid thought, 
Except for him who hath the secret learned 
To mix his blood with sunshine, and to take 
The winds into his pulses. Hush ! 'tis he ! 
My oriole, my glance of summer fire, 
Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 
Twitches the pack thread I had lightly wound 
About the bough to help his housekeeping, — 
Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 
Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 
Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 
Divines the providence that hides and helps. 
Heave, ho ! Heave, ho ! he whistles as the twine 
Slackens its hold ; once more, now ! and a flash 
Lightens across the sunlight to the elm 
Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt 
Nor all his booty is the thread ; he trails 
My loosened thought with it along the air, 
And I must follow, would I ever find 
The inward rhyme to all this wealth of life. 



106 HE CHOICE POEMS 

I care not how men trace their ancestry, 
To ape or Adam : let them please their whim ; 
But I in June am midway to believe 
A tree imong my far progenitors, 
Such sympathy is mine with all the race, 
Such mutual recognition vaguely sweet 
There is between us. Surely there are times 
When they consent to own me of their kin, 
And condescend to me, and call me cousin, 
I I ..rmuring faint lullabies of eldest time, 
Forgotten, and yet dumbly felt with thrills 
Moving the lips, though fruitless of all words. 
And I have many a lifelong leafy friend, 
Never estranged nor careful of my soul, 
That knows I hate the ax, and welcomes me 
Within his tent as if I were a bird, 
Or other free companion of the earth, 
Yet undegenerate to the shifts of men. 



UNDER THE OLD ELM 

I. TWO NOTABLE OCCURRENCES 

On the third day of July, 1775, there was a 
strange, impressive scene in the village of Cam- 
bridge. In the midst of the little open field, 
called by courtesy " the green," were drawn up 
the rank and file of what was known as the pro- 
vincial army. It was an odd-looking army. Its 
soldiers were mostly New England farmers lately 
come from their half-plowed fields, or mechanics 
who had hastily left their shops and instruments 
of trade and had hurried forward to defend their 
homes from British invasion. They were a motley 
crowd, some ragged, some even barefooted; and 
they were armed with old muskets, old swords, and 
such other various weapons as they had been able 
most easily to procure. Yet some of these men 
had fought at Lexington only ten weeks before, and 
many were fresh from the great conflict of Bunker 
Hill; and all were ready — 

" to assert by manners, voice, or pen, 
Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen. " 

Under a broad-spreading elm in front of this 
array of patriots a number of officers and men of 
mark were assembled. In the midst of these stood 

107 



108 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

one towards whom every eye was directed — a noble- 
looking stranger, clad in a grand uniform of buff 
and blue, and so tall that he seemed to tower above 
all the rest. 

M And so that is General Washington, is it ? n said 
one of the lookers-on. " Me thinks he has a haughty 
bearing, as of one who holds himself aloof from his 
fellow-men ." 

11 They say, too, that he is very severe," remarked 
another. k% He will be a stern commander, and woe 
to the man who disobeys him." 

" Well," said a third, " it must be owned that 
in these troublous times and with this undrilled 
army of ours, we need a steady hand upon the 
bridle." 

" Yes, and one patient to command, wise to direct, 
and skillful to perform/' added still another. 

And so, under that " consecrated elm," the stranger 
from Virginia stood that day, while curious eyes 
looked at him and wondered what sort of man 
he was, and doubtful hearts questioned whether, 
indeed, some other leader would not have been 
better. There, by the authority of the Continental 
Congress, he assumed command of the forces of the 
united colonies, resolved that, however discourag- 
ing the outlook, he would persevere under all diffi- 
culties, and, if God willed it, would lead his army 
to victory. 



UNDER THE OLD ELM 109 

Meanwhile, in Boston, scarcely three miles away, 
the British commander was reviewing his well-drilled 
troops, and, despite of the lessons learned at Lexing- 
ton and Bunker Hill, was boasting that he would 
win an early and easy victory over the rabble crowd 
in Cambridge who were that day hailing the advent 
of their new commander. 

Just one hundred years passed by, and then, on 
the third of July, 1875, another and quite different 
company assembled around the great elm tree in 
Cambridge. In that company were the most noted 
men and the most gifted women of New England, 
with many others no less highly endowed from 
other states. Here were some of the foremost 
statesmen of our country, men famous in peace and 
war, poets, historians, journalists, presidents of uni- 
versities, eminent divines, philanthropists, and per- 
sons distinguished in other walks of life. They 
had come together to celebrate the hundredth anni- 
versary of Washington's taking command of the 
American army. The ceremonies were appropri- 
ately simple ; short addresses were made, and a poem 
was read by James Russell Lowell. 

Of all that was done and said on that day, the 
poem and its reading will be remembered longest. 
The poet was in his happiest, most philosophic 
mood, and he rose to the occasion with a grace 



110 NINE CHOICE POEMS 

which stirred the enthusiasm of all his hearers. 
The poem is in the form of an ode, consisting of 
eight parts, each part containing from one to five 
long stanzas. The entire ode is a grand outburst 
of patriotic sentiment. Much is said of Washington, 

for verv naturally the theme itself is 

j j 

" this imperial man 
Cast in the massive mold 

I those high-statured ages old 
Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran." 

Towards the end the poet very happily held out 
the hand of reconciliation to Virginia then so 
recently returned to her allegiance to the Union. 

" She gave us this unblemished gentleman : 
What shall pre give her back but love and praise 
As in the dear old unestranged c; lys 
Before the inevitable wrong begar. ? 
Mother of States and undiminished men, 
Thou gavest as a country, giving him, 
And we owe alway what we owed thee the:. : 
The boon thou wouldst have snatched from us again 
Shines as before with no abatement dim." 

0::e stanza, the third in the fifth division of the 
ode, is well worthy of careful study. Therein the 

et enumerates some of those characteristics of 
mind and soul which made Washington so su- 
premely great. He excelled, as few other men 
have done, both as a soldier and as a statesman. 



UNDER THE OLD ELM III 

He did great things naturally and simply, as though 
the doing of them were a part of his life. He was 
indifferent to the world's honors. He asked nothing 
for himself, unless it were in prayer to God ; but he 
was never tired of asking aid for his suffering sol- 
diers. He was modest, but firm. He never mis- 
took a future evil for a present good. He was 
strict almost to severity, but strict with himself first. 
He cared not for applause, and neither praise nor 
blame caused him to swerve from the straight line 
of duty. Broad-minded and high-souled, he belonged 
not only to America but to the world. 

Such was the man who stood under the elm in 
those trying days of 1775 and assumed the com- 
mand of an army which promised nothing and pos- 
sessed nothing but dauntless courage and faith in 
the success of a just cause. 

" Never to see a nation born 
Hath been given to mortal man, 
Unless to those who, on that summer morn, 
Gazed silent when the great Virginian 
Unsheathed the sword." 

Let us turn to the stanza above referred to, and 
read Mr. Lowell's characterization of Washington 
just as he wrote it. Each one of the twenty lines 
is packed full of thought and will require from you 
the most careful study in order to get from it its 



112 NINE CHOrCE POEMS 

entire meaning. It is something that requires not 
only to be read but to be pondered and read again 
until it becomes thoroughly your own. 



II. THE LINES OX WASHINGTON 

Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 

High-poised example of great duties done 

Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 

As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 

Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 

But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 

Tramping the snow to coral 1 where they trod, 

Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 

Modest, yet firm as Nature's self ; unblamed 

Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 

Never seduced through show of present good 

By other than unsetting lights to steer 

New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood 

More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; 

Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 

In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will; 

Not honored then or now because he wooed 

The popular voice but that he still withstood ; 

Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 

Who was all this and ours, and all men's — Washington. 

1 Tramping the snow to coral, i.e. making it look like coral. How? 



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